


Conversations between Friends

by tetsubinatu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tetsubinatu/pseuds/tetsubinatu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Under veritaserum, Harry reveals something that Ron would never have suspected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversations between Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abigail89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/gifts).



> Originally posted at [Harry Holidays 2008](http://community.livejournal.com/harry_holidays/71446.html), this fic was written in great haste as a gift for abigail89. It probably deserves a bit of an overhaul at some point.
> 
> WARNINGS etc:  
> R-rated  
> Slash (ie: male-male relationship)  
> Mentions of previous Harry/Oliver, Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione

Ron slapped Harry on the back as the door of Courtroom # 3 closed behind them. “That was easier than expected, mate! I reckon with your evidence on record he’s going to Azkaban for at least ten years!”

“Easier, hell!” Harry responded irritably. “'Easy' does not involve Veritaserum. I hate that stuff. For God’s sake lets get back to the office in case any of the reporters come out and catch us in the hall before it wears off.”

Ron grinned, striding after his flatmate as they made for the Auror offices. “Scared they’re going to ask you what colour underpants you wear?”

Harry shot him a look as he pushed the lift button. “No.”

“Maybe they’d ask you who you last had in the sack!”

Harry swung into the lift as it arrived, thankfully empty for once except for the ubiquitous paper memos. “Hmmm,” he answered non-comittally, pressing the floor button with a decidedly unamused snap of his wrist.

Ron couldn’t resist pushing a little more, given that they were still alone in the lift. “So who did you last share sexual congress with, Mr Potter?”

Harry’s face went white. He flung up his hands to cover his mouth at the same time as Ron, suddenly shocked into realising that if the answer was “Ginny Weasley” he really didn’t want to hear it, covered his own ears. Neither of them was fast enough.

“Oliver Wood.”

A bell rang and the elevator door opened, letting in two witches who ignored them in favour of dissecting the dress sense of an absent colleague. Harry looked at the floor. Ron stared at the door.

The next floor was theirs, and Harry strode out of the lift before the doors had finished opening. Ron stumbled after him blindly.

Andrew Mackenzie was standing by the water cooler as they came in. “How’d it go?” he asked politely. Harry pushed past with an indistiguishable mutter, leaving Ron to answer the question properly. “Not bad,” he said, “I reckon he’ll get what’s coming to him.”

“What’s up with Potter, then?” Andrew asked, clearly a little nettled at being ignored.

“They made him take Veritaserum and it hasn’t worn off yet.”

Andrew shrugged. “I guess he was the only one who actually saw the goods before Smithy destroyed the evidence.”

“Yeah. Anyway he didn’t want to hang around while he was still doped up so we came back before the verdict, but I think it went well.” Ron filled his cup and headed back to his desk with a polite nod. Harry, with whom he shared a tiny office, was nowhere to be seen. Ron wondered if he’d gone home, or just locked himself in the loos until the Veritaserum wore off. Probably the loos - he wouldn’t want to risk being asked any questions on the way out.

Fuck; he really shouldn’t have asked that question. Ron put his head on his desk and groaned.

Oliver Wood! He hadn’t seen Oliver in ten years. How could Harry have... have... Ron took a deep breath. How could Harry have... fucked... Oliver Wood and never mentioned it? When? Why?

Well, as to why, Oliver was pretty fit. Or had been ten years ago. And... intense. He gave 100% to whatever he was doing.

Which was apparently Harry.

Geez.

Ron suddenly became aware that he could hear someone else breathing. He sat up and looked around, but he couldn’t see anyone.

Invisibility cloak.

It was a small room and within a couple of paces he could swing his arms into every corner of the room. Nothing. Except...

A foot, poking out from under Harry’s desk.

Ron locked the door and darkened the office windows. Then, somehow feeling emboldened by the gloom, he slid under the desk next to the foot.

“I’m sorry I asked that, Harry. It was none of my business.”

The foot retreated into invisibility. The breathing hitched but there was no other response. Ron squashed in a bit further, finding a shoulder poking him in the arm, and a knee huddled next to his own.

“I wish you’d told me, mate.” He waited a few more minutes, thinking hard, before adding, “I’m not going to ask any more questions until I’m sure the Veritaserum has worn off, but... Geez Harry. I thought you trusted me.”

He started to scramble to his feet, but Harry’s voice stopped him. “I thought you’d be angry. I thought you’d think I made a fool of you... and Ginny.”

“Is it safe to ask you questions yet?”

An arm slid out from under the cloak, tilted to show a watch and slid back under. “Another five minutes.”

Ron slumped back down again. A million questions boiled through his head, but he couldn’t ask any of them. “I guess I’m a bit angry,” he admitted slowly. “I thought I knew everything about you and now I find that you must have been lying to me. That makes me angry. I.... Oh fuck it, Harry - I can’t do this without asking questions. Come out and talk to me when you’re ready.”

He unfolded himself from the desk and went back to his own side, pulling out the paperwork that was weeks overdue and spreading it out in a vain attempt at normality. He stared at it blankly. ‘Name of subject.’ The words echoed emptily through his head in search of some meaning to attach to them. ‘Name of subject.’

Aurelius Pargeter, he wrote.

‘File date’

There was a rustling beneath the other desk and Harry emerged from the folds of his invisibility cloak. He looked... blotchy. Wrung out. He looked like hell, frankly. He sat on his desk waiting like a small child ready to be punished. Ron wanted to punch his pasty, famous face in.

‘File date’.

He had no idea what the bloody file date was. Harry was looking at him . Just looking.

‘Has the Veritaserum worn off?”

“Yes.”

“And...”

“What do you want to know?”

Ron clenched his fists on top of the paperwork. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you trust me?”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it.

Words boiled out of Ron...”When did this happen? When did you know? What about Ginny? Was that real, or all fake?”

This time Harry made a noise, but Ron couldn’t stop. “Oliver Wood? What the fuck? Are you going out and having wild gay sex every weekend when you tell me you’re mowing the lawn at Godric’s Hollow? Who else ? And why the FUCK didn’t you TELL ME!”

Harry was white as a sheet and trembling with some emotion - Ron couldn’t tell which.

“THIS is why I didn’t tell you, Ron! I knew you’d go ballistic!”

“I wouldn’t be GOING ballistic if my BEST FRIEND hadn’t been keeping his fucking SEXUAL ORIENTATION from me!” Ron realised that he was standing up, fists still resting on the desk, head thrust forward like a bull facing a matador. Abruptly he sat down.

“I just... are we mates or not?”

Harry looked at the floor, but his answer was swift and sure. “Yeah. We’re mates.”

“So when did you sleep with Oliver?”

“Neville and Hermione’s wedding.”

Ron frowned at him. “That was eight years ago!”

Harry nodded.

“You really have been mowing the lawn then?”

Harry nodded uncertainly. 

Ron caught his eye , and suddenly began to snort. “Hmm. Guess I can see why you didn’t tell me then.” He laughed until Harry began to laugh with him, and the relief was so great that they couldn’t stop.

Ron clutched his sides, relieved that the tension was gone, but unable to stop laughing. Finally he managed to take a few deep breaths without giggling. Harry was prone on the floor, gasping like a landed fish.

“I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you, Ron,” he told the carpet.

“Yeah well. Was there anyone else? You know... before?”

“No. I guess I was just drunk...”

“And I stomped out of the reception in a high snit after quarrelling with everyone...” Ron remembered.

“Yeah, you were still pissed off that Hermione picked Neville.. I didn’t know what to do and Oliver was right there, being all sympathetic. He took me home and well, that’s it.”

Ron frowned, thinking. “But you didn’t keep seeing him?”

Harry looked at the floor again. “I didn’t want to be gay,” he muttered desperately.

Ron peered at him cautiously. “But you are?”

Harry nodded.

“And you haven’t had a root since?”

Harry’s head snapped up and glared at Ron.

“Just thinking, you must be desperate, mate!” Harry swung at him half-heartedly and Ron dodged with the ease of long practice. “So, don’t you want a boyfriend?”

Harry rolled his eyes and sat down at his desk, reaching for his paperwork. “Not everyone’s life is centered in their dick, Ron!”

Ron grinned. “Oliver still on the market?”

“Been involved with the Falmouth Keeper for years, you prat!”

“Geez, no-one tells me anything!”

* * *

 

So that was all right then. Except that that night Ron dreamed that Harry was dancing in his garden with Ginny and just as they leaned forward to kiss, all golden and gorgeous in the sunlight, Oliver tapped Ginny on the shoulder and cut in. Harry smiled up at Oliver and kissed him instead.

Ron found himself awake at 3am and utterly furious with Harry. He was at the door of Harry’s bedroom before he was properly awake. Harry was sitting by his window, staring out into the darkness.

“What about Ginny, then?” The words came out louder and harsher than he realised, dropping viciously into the silent pool of the night.

Harry turned deep, sleepless eyes on him. “I really didn’t know. I love her like a sister, but I didn’t know the difference then.”

“Well when did you know?”

Harry seemed to curl deeper in on himself. A wave of lassitude swept over Ron and he lay down on the bed, waiting for Harry to answer, but before that happened he was asleep again.

Harry stared down at his sleeping friend in the moonlight.

“I knew when I saw you kissing Hermione, you prat. That’s when I knew it wasn’t Ginny I wanted; it was you,” he whispered. He pulled up the blanket that was crumpled at the end of the bed, dropping it lightly over Ron before he quietly left the room.

Behind him, Ron’s eyes snapped open.

* * *

 

Ron caught Hermione having morning tea at her usual cafe. Plonking himself without a greeting into the other chair at the small table he sighed moodily and eyed her croissant. “Get your own food,” she advised, bookmarking her novel with a napkin. “What’s up?”

“Do you know why Ginny and Harry broke up?”

Her head tilted consideringly. “Do you?”

He nodded, looking anywhere but at her face.

“How do you feel about that?”

He shrugged, reaching across the table, but she defended the croissant with one arm and waved for the waitress with the other. “My friend wants to order some food.”

“I don’t,” he muttered sullenly, but he ordered a Trucker’s Breakfast anyway.

“So what happened?” Hermione prompted, as the waitress left the table.

“It was the Smith trial yesterday and they gave Harry Veritaserum.”

Hermione snapped to attention, “WHAT? This came out in COURT?”

“No! No, it’s just that he was still under Veritaserum when he came out of the trial and I was fooling around and I asked him who the last person was that he slept with.”

Hermione winced.

“Yeah. Well I didn’t know! Harry should have told me.”

“You should never have asked him a question like that while he was under Veritaserum, Ronald.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah. Too late. Oliver Wood.”

“Oliver Wood? I thought he was with some blond quiddich player?”

“Not at your wedding, he wasn’t.”

Hermione bit her lip consideringly. “So how’s Harry?”

“He was pretty upset. We made up and had a laugh and then I woke up in the middle of the night and shouted a bit and I haven’t seen him this morning and... Hermione...”

“Yes?”

“He loves me.”

Hermione’s face twisted in sympathy. “I know.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Do you love him?”

“Well yeah, of course! But not... I mean I never even thought about it. I’m, y’know, I like girls!”

Hermione looked at her plate and took a bite of her croissant. Apparently that took a lot of concentration.

“You don’t think I like girls? I do!”

Hermione finished her mouthful slowly. “I know you like girls, Ron, but they never seem to last, do they?”

“Yeah but...”

“I think the closest you’ve ever been to a real relationship was with me, and you were never really comfortable with the fact that I am a girl.”

Ron flushed and looked imploringly at her. “I know it wasn’t really good for you, and I’m glad you’re happy with Neville, but... you know I love you? And I always will?”

Hermione nodded vigorously. “Yes. I love you too, prat. I’m just not sure that you ever loved me any differently from Harry. Actually, I think maybe you love Harry more.”

Ron stared at the large plate of bacon, eggs, toast and tomatoes that the waitress was placing in front of him. “Want a tomato?” Hermione pushed her plate over and he gingerly transferred it across before cutting enthusiastically into the bacon. She sliced her tomato with the firm even strokes which made her instantly recognisable to all Howarts alumni as a former pupil of Snape’s.

“But I’ve never even thought of Harry that way!” Ron said plaintively through his mouthful of bacon and eggs.

Hermione shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong.”

Ron leaned forward to place a diagnostic hand on her forehead and she grinned at him, shaking it off as she finished the last slice of tomato. “I have to get back to work. Neville’s working late hours this week so Floo me or pop in after work if you like and we can talk as privately as you need.”

Ron nodded and turned back to his toast. He really had to get back to work, too.

* * *

 

That night he had the dream again, only this time instead of Oliver cutting in, Ron did. Harry looked up at him and smiled, leaning in to kiss him...

Ron woke up panting, half hard, a knot of desire in his belly. “Bloody Hell,” he breathed. He closed his eyes and drew the image back up again. Mmmmm. He let his dream-self touch his lips to Harry’s, feeling his arousal deepen. What next? Hand around to rest on Harry’s bu...

No. Not a good idea. He tried to call up the image of Susan Bones’ gorgous tits, but his mind kept sliding off them like a cherry off melting icecream and insisting on replacing them with the image of Harry in the garden.

Hermione might have a point, he conceded. Or maybe he was just being driven insane by the realisation that his best friend was in love with him. Bugger it.

He eventually dropped off into an uneasy sleep. The next time he had the dream he didn’t wake up until after he’d groped dream-Harry’s bum.

* * *

 

Harry was in the kitchen when Ron staggered out for breakfast. Coffee and eggs appeared in front of him, letting him know that it must be Saturday. Ron grunted thanks and Harry passed him the Prophet, reserving the crossword for himself.

Normal Saturday stuff.

Harry asked if Ron knew the name of the inventor of the self-stirring cauldron. Ron didn’t. Normal. Ron’s eyes kept returning to the over-large pajama bottoms sliding low on Harry’s hips. Not so normal. Ron started chewing his fingernails.

Harry reached over and firmly removed Ron’s hand from his mouth. “Stop it! Whatever you want to know, just ask! You’re driving me nuts!”

Ron scowled defensively. “What makes you think I want to ask something? Maybe it’s just been a stressful week.”

“Yep. Stress level has been incredibly high this week ever since you found out that I was gay!”

Ron hunched lower in his seat. “It’s not that you’re gay - no, really. And yeah I was pretty mad that you didn’t tell me but I get it: you were scared I’d be a prat about it, and I might have been back then. Particularly after Hermione left me. So I’m fine with it, OK?”

Harry clearly didn’t believe a word of it. “Do you want me to move out?” he asked.

“What? No!”

“Well what then? What will stop you chewing your damn nails and looking at me like that?”

Ron just blurted it out. “I keep dreaming about you.”

That was clearly not what Harry had been expecting. His shoulders loosened and he looked curious. “What sort of dreams?”

Ron blushed and Harry grinned, sensing that he had gained the upper hand. “Go on.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Scared?”

Ron shot him a mean look. That was underhanded. “Yeah. A bit,” he confessed.

“Of me?”

“Nah! Who could be scared of you, yah prat! Well, apart from Voldemort and co. And Smithy,” he conceded. “It’s just - what if I screw everything up really badly and we stop being best mates?

Harry relaxed. “Not going to happen. If you didn’t manage to screw up your friendship with Hermione after everything that happened, you aren’t going to screw it up with me.”

“I might.”

“Never going to happen. I’m harder to get rid of than that. I mean, I didn’t go when Ginny and I split up, did I? And your brothers were pretty pissed off about that.”

“What if I kissed you?”

Harry went utterly still. “What would you do that for?”

“What if I kissed you and then I found out that I didn’t mean it any more and I’m just having some sort of weird breakdown and I don’t really love you and Hermione’s wrong?”

The pulse point in Harry’s neck was beating very fast and his answer was a long time coming. “Do you think that’s likely?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

Harry stared into familiar blue eyes, dilated with panic... and maybe desire. “Want to try it and see?”

Ron nodded. “Friends forever, yeah?” he choked out.

“I promise. If you throw up on me or run away, we'll never mention it again.”

Ron let out a nervous snort of laughter. “All right then.” Harry’s fingers laced through his and led him into the living room, to the couch. Pushing Ron gently into the seat he knelt between his legs and reached up to cup Ron’s neck.

“You sure?” he asked. When Ron nodded he leaned in and pressed a gentle dry kiss on Ron’s lips. “Freaking out yet?”

Ron shook his head, grinning. “It’d take more than that,” he challenged, so the next time Harry leaned in, he upped the ante with a swipe of his tongue. Ron groaned. “Oh yeah,” he breathed. “Oh yeah. Harry.” His long arms reached down to scoop Harry into his lap. “More.”

Harry tasted so good. Harry felt so good. Ron was never letting Harry out of his reach again. He slid one finger into those enticingly loose pajamas, then flattened his whole hand and slid it into forbidden territory, eliciting throaty appreciative noises from his friend.

“Damn it, Ron. Please... don’t stop...”

Ron had no intention of stopping. Ah, good. The cord was tied in a loose bow and came undone with a quick tug, falling to pool around Harry’s thighs and buttocks. The t-shirt slid off with a minimum of help from Harry and then at last Ron had a lapful of nearly naked, warm, panting Harry. Why had it taken him so long to realise that this was what he wanted? “I am such an idiot!” he murmured into Harry’s mouth. “Thick as two short planks. Slow as a flobberworm.”

“No argument here,” Harry agreed. “Can I...?” His hand slid down to Ron’s cock, still tucked discreetly inside Ron’s Cannons pajamas.

“Mmm,” Ron agreed. “Oh that’s... that’s really good.” He twisted around, trying to remove his pants without letting go of Harry, but eventually realised that it wasn’t going to work. “Getoffand letmeup, Harry.” Harry slid off the couch, kicking his remaining clothes off his ankles, and waiting impatiently as Ron removed his own pajamas. When they were both finally naked, Ron sank back onto the couch, pulling Harry on top where he could touch and caress him as much as he wanted to.

* * *

 

A surprised squeak from the Floo was never heard by the entwined pair on the couch. And if the Floo stayed green for a long while, they were far too busy to notice. Anyway, Hermione figured that after what she had put up with from those two over the years a little voyeuristic perving was the least she was owed. They looked happy, though. She smiled to herself and went back to bed, hoping that they would come and tell her all about it in the afternoon. In the meantime, Neville was waiting for her.

 

THE END


End file.
